


Home for an Outcast

by Eastern_Lights



Series: Before the Fall [1]
Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastern_Lights/pseuds/Eastern_Lights
Summary: Long before Eragon Shadeslayer, Arya or even Galbatorix were born, Alagaësia was a different place. Full of knowledge, art, magic and dragons. But even in this seemingly utopian past, the Riders have their troubles.Anurin needs someone to take care of a dragon egg. Oromis needs to come to terms with soon becoming a teacher, and Glaedr just needs to get some rest.And just what does the elf-child Andumë have to do with them all?





	1. No Rest for Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody!  
> Just two quick notes before I let you read what you came here for:  
> -This is my first fic, so I'd be very, very grateful for any comments or criticism.  
> -English is not my first language, so if you find any grammatical or stylistic mistakes, please, let me know :-)  
> Elrun ono, fricaya, un atra esterní ono thelduin.

It was a quiet morning on the island of Vroengard. Rays of sunlight were slowly crawling down the gargantuan houses, halls and towers, making the droplets of dew on the many trees in the many gardens seemingly glow with their own light. The Council of Elders of the Dragon Riders had been in session for over ten hours by then. It was a poor session attendance-wise as only six out of twenty four members were actually present. Three dragons, three elves. One of the behemoths, with snow-white scales and blue eyes tilted his horned head.

 _What about the egg in Du Fells Nángoröth?_ echoed in the thoughts of everyone present. The elf with hair the colour of midnight sitting by the dragon's side lifted his head slightly, then looked to his fellow council members for reaction. The elf woman sitting opposite nodded hurriedly, obviously grateful for something relevant to discuss, despite the famous elvish patience.

"Yes, we should send someone straight away."

She touched her chin thoughtfully: "Somebody close enough to cover the distance within two days or less and skilled enough both to cast the spell and protect the egg on the way back."

"Someone who can think on their feet..." agreed Vrael, "Hírador and Ilaros, do you think?" he offered.

 _Exemplary Riders as they are, the negotiations they are engaged in cannot be cut off now,_ said the deep inner voice of the oldest dragon, a powerful dark green male sitting on an elevated dais at the end of the chamber. That obviously wasn't everything to be said, however, it was the ancient elf with hair like polished silver wire sitting by his right foreleg that finished his statement:

"We have been thinking... Glaedr and Oromis."

The leader of the Riders didn't even look up, yet his words were conveyed with all the clarity and authority of a monarch. The she-elf's crimson dragon shot a glance at him and she herself exclaimed:

"Glaedr and- But Anurin-elda-!"

 _They are young still,_ her dragon said.

If the white male could do such a thing, he would have lifted an eyebrow at him. However, his Rider could, and did.

"They would soon have to choose an apprentice anyway,"Vrael pointed out.

 _That is why they are on their way to Vroengard as we speak. They are very close to Du Fells Nángoröth,_ added Umaroth.

The other growled. _So you want to give them an apprentice_ and _an egg to protect?!_

The female Rider continued without missing a beat, adopting a look of confusion and worry: "Glaedr is reckless, impatient, dangerous even! And Oromis-"

"Thinks he has all the answers and can correct all the faults of this world," Vrael finished, "Pellamora, you act as if we had been any different at their age." He smiled. "Besides, when was the last time you spoke to them? I assure you, they have been working hard on eliminating their shortcomings."

He locked gazes with Pellamora for a heartbeat, then looked to Anurin. The elder rider seemed content with the result of the exchange. He would often talk little during council meetings, testing the younger members.

"Well said, Vrael, Umaroth," Anurin said finally, "Having someone to tutor and, for a while, an egg to protect will do them good."

He turned his head to Pellamora.

Her shoulders sagged as she took a deep breath.

"I suppose so." She bowed her head. "I apologize for our outburst."

Anurin smiled: "Nothing to apologize for.“

After a moment of silence, Vrael stood up and walked to the centre of the chamber.

"It is agreed then. I believe there is nothing more to discuss?"

"Indeed," Pellamora confirmed wearily. Vrael nodded and continued towards the gargantuan doors, tall and dignified, his white robes swirling around him.

"I shall let Oromis and Glaedr know immediately," he told the other four as he turned back. He twisted his right hand over his sternum and bowed to Anurin. Then he strode out, followed closely by Umaroth.

 

* * *

Many miles to the east of Dorú Araeba on the endless grassy plain nested between the mysterious depths of Du Weldenwarden and the merciless expanse of the Hadarac desert, a Rider and his dragon were sound asleep. At least to a casual observer. Yes, the dragon was curled up on the ground in a position not dissimilar to a sleeping cat's, breathing deeply and yes, the Rider was lying on the ground, his cloak wrapped around him, his back against the golden behemoth. However, if anyone were to take a close enough look at the sleeping elf, they would immeidately notice that something was not quite as it seemed. First, he was absolutely silent. Not even a bat with the sharpest hearing in Alagaësia would hear his breath. Yet his chest was rising and falling regularly. And second, his face seemed too tense, too _knowing_ for him to be asleep. But not enough to be awake, either.

When travelling, he never let himself drift into a slumber deeper than that. With almost a century of experience, Oromis had learned long ago that it pays off to be cautious, despite the fact that there was not a single creature in this part of the land that he knew of that could cause them harm. The Rider and dragon knew too well that it were those dangers that they did _not_ know of that they should really worry about.

Just as the morning sun was about to wake Oromis up, he felt another mind brush against his consciousness.

_Oromis..._

He was fully awake in an instant, sitting up and drawing his bronze-coloured sword in one practised motion. He stared at the black glyph for _Naegling_ on the lower part of the blade, excluding everything else from his mind. But then he recognised the intruder. He sighed, internally calling himself a fool and lowered the barriers around his consciousness.

 _Oromis, can you hear me?_ said Vrael.

 _I hear you, Master,_ Oromis replied.

_The elders have a task for you and Glaedr._

Oromis' dragon was now awake as well and the end of his tail twiched slightly as he listened in with interest.

 _The wild dragons of Du Fells Nángoröth have decided to entrust one of their eggs to us,_ the older Rider continued, _Its mother's name is Miremel. There is also one called Abarun, who speaks the Ancient language. He shall be expecting you. You are to travel there, cast the binding spell and deliver the egg back to Dorú Araeba._

There was a moment of silence, as if Vrael were asking: „Do I make myself clear?“

 _We are honoured that you would consider us worthy of such a task,_ Oromis said, _It shall be done._

He could feel approval from his superior's mind.

_Good. Safe travels to you both, then._

_May the Stars watch over you, Vrael-elda._

_And may good fortune rule over you,_ replied Umaroth's partner and pulled back from Oromis' mind.

The Rider sheathed his sword. There would be no rest for him and Glaedr for a while longer, it seemed.

"When do you wish to leave?" Oromis asked his dragon. He had long since decided to use his voice as well as his thoughts when he was alone with Glaedr. After weeks of travel with no-one else to talk to, Oromis's normally smooth and pleasant baritone would start approximating the voice of a crow if he didn't use it at least once in a while. That was also why he sometimes sang during long flights, as well as to keep boredom at bay.

 _Half an hour?_ Glaedr suggested. Oromis frowned. They had ran into a headwind on their way from Ceris, and the golden dragon was still exhausted. However, he was too proud and determined to admit it, even to his partner-of-body-and-soul. But Oromis knew better.

"Three hours it is," he said, a small smile touching his lips. Glaedr curled his foreleg around the comparatively tiny elf, pulling him closer.

_Thank you, little one._

With that, the dragon laid his head back into the grass and only a moment later he fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I've made some minor adjustments to this chapter after rereading Eldest. I realised that there would be almost no human Riders at the time this story is set in, as humans had been in Alagaesia for just about a century. Also, I found it hard to believe that Anurin would be replaced so soon after including humans in the pact with dragons, so Vrael has yet to take his place as the leader.  
> Sorry for the inconsistency, next time, I'll do my research properly :-)


	2. The Weakest Link

 

Oromis didn't go back to sleep. He wasn't really tired and besides, he could sleep during the flight. Instead, he occupied himself by thinking about what awaited them back home, on Vroengard. Passing their knowledge on to the next generation of Riders. He had always known that moment would come, but now it seemed too soon. He remembered his master, how wise and strong he had always seemed. _So much unlike me_ , he thought. Not that he had any doubts of his abilities as a Rider, but he simply could not imagine himself teaching them to anyone else.

Of course, there was also the matter of staying in Dorú Araeba. He was one hundred and sixty six years old, Glaedr twenty years younger. While by no means youngsters, they were still considered young by the other Riders, especially when compared to the likes of Umaroth or Iormûngr. Oromis for one was sure he could handle spending most of his time in one place (albeit with his teeth gritted), but he also knew that his emotions would be influenced by Glaedr's. And the golden dragon, although he would never admit it, would ache for a chance to stretch his wings properly.

Oromis stood up and stretched his arms. Then he turned his eyes to Glaedr, admiring the way the sun reflected off of his scales.

 _No,_ he thought, _We can overcome this. As long as we are together, we can overcome_ anything.

 _Of course we can,_ said Glaedr and opened his eyes with an audible 'click'. Then he stood up and spread his wings, momentarily blocking out the sun.

_Now, pack your things and saddle me, so that we can depart. We have spent more than enough time here._

"You have rested enough?" Oromis asked as he started rolling up the thick cloak he had slept on. Glaedr snorted, small flames shooting out of his nostrils as he did.

_Would you please stop worrying about me? Not even my mother is that interested in me._

He turned to Oromis and poked him softly in the chest with one of his claws.

 _I am not the one who is tiny, soft and breakable,_ he sneered, but not without affection in his voice. The elf adopted a mock-hurt expression.

"Some words can deal worse an injury than any claw," he proclaimed, then burst into laughter. He could feel his earlier worries drifting away already.

 

* * *

 

The journey south into the heart of the Hadarac desert was long and uneventful. After a few hours, sand started to replace the lush green grass on the ground far below them. The air got warmer, but not so much as to be unpleasant. Soon, there was nothing on the horizon apart from the endless expanse of sandy dunes. There was, quite literally, nothing to see. Partly because of that, both Oromis and Glaedr soon drifted into a kind of silent melancholy. They hardly talked, their earlier confident determination chased away by the desolate landscape. Only when they landed to rest and so that Oromis could pull some water from the depths of the earth for his dragon to drink, Glaedr sighed:

_I feel so old. I remember looking at the Elders and while I admired them, I also pitied them. No more travelling, no more adventures..._

Oh no, not you too, Oromis thought to himself, it is enough that I worry about this.

But he forced a smile, trying to convince himself, as well as Glaedr.

"Perhaps we shall find that training the youth is our most challenging task yet. But yes, I too will miss this way of life."

They remained silent for a moment, then Oromis turned to give Glaedr a reassuring smile.

But Glaedr was not looking at him. He was staring at the southern horizon, his neck tense and his claws digging into the sand.

"What is it?" Oromis asked.

 _Another dragon. See?_ He used their bond to point Oromis' eyes in the right direction. The dragon Glaedr had referred to was so far just a tiny speck on the horizon, but that would soon change.

"We should take off," Oromis said, "If that truly is a wild dragon, we will have some explaining to do, and I don't particularly wish to be on the ground should he decide that we are intruding on his people's territory." he explained as he climbed nimbly onto Glaedr's back and strapped his legs to the saddle.

_My thoughts exactly. And even if they are awaiting us, we should in no way expect that they would be happy to see us._

Glaedr started beating his wings, sending pounds of sand swirling around them. Oromis used his left forearm to shield his eyes from the small sandstorm, his right hand never leaving Naegling's hilt. Even when he knew there was no danger (which was certainly not the case now), there was nothing, apart from Glaedr's presence, that could reassure him more than the familiar feeling of closing his fingers around the sword.

They soon reached the same altitude as their counterpart. As he got closer, for Glaedr could recognize him as a male by his smell carried by the wind, they could gradually make out more and more details. He was larger than Glaedr by a small amount and.H is scales were dark, mahogany red. Out of the many dragons Oromis had seen in his life, this one, he thought, was the first that looked outright terrifying. His horns were long and narrow. His claws and the spikes on his back were black and sharp. Every inch of his body seemed perfectly designed to kill whatever would stand in his way. Even Glaedr, who never shied away from a fight, would think twice before meeting him in battle.

When his mind touched theirs, it was as dark and hostile as the rest of him.

 _Are you the ones sent by Umaroth?_ he asked, seemingly deliberately omitting to even mention the white dragon's Rider.

 _Yes,_ replied Glaedr. That was something he and Oromis had agreed on earlier. The wild dragons did not look to elves very kindly ever since Du Fyrn Skulblaka. If one of their own adressed them during the Rider's visit, they might be less hostile.

A moment later, the mahogany dragon reached them and he and Glaedr started circling around each other. The golden behemoth continued:

_My name is Glaedr, and my Rider is Oromis._

The other snorted.

_Your names interest me little. You have come here to free us of a weak link in our lineage and that is what you will do. Then you shall depart and we shall never see each other again._

He turned back south and gestured with his tail for Glaedr to follow.

 _But if names hold such meaning to you and your_ pet _, you may call me Abarun._

Glaedr growled at that insult to his Rider, but Oromis touched his neck gently and said:

_Don't. He is trying to goad you into something that would justify hurting us. I can survive a few insults._

Oromis could almost feel Glaedr clenching his jaws.

_I could defeat him in a fight._

_I know you could._

After ten minutes of following Abarun, when the sharp peaks of Du Fells Nángoröth began taking shape in the distance, Glaedr asked:

_What did he mean by 'a weak link in our lineage'?_

_I know not,_ Oromis replied, _But it would not make much sense from their perspective to give promising offspring away to the Riders, would it?_ he added grimly.

A new wave of anger swelled inside of Glaedr.

_They are worse than vipers and cuckoos!_

A puff of black smoke escaped his nostrils.

_But they shall see. I will personally see to it that the little one grows up to overshadow them all!_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has been fun to write. It always bothered me how little of Oromis and Glaedr's relationship we have seen in the books. I've tried to make them both more carefree and passionate and, well, younger, while trying to make sure that it's still them. I hope I got the balance right!


	3. Alone in the Dark

 

Very few people lived in the Spine. They had very good reasons for it. Urgals, wild animals, bad weather, you could name anything that would make people move as far as possible and it almost certainly existed somewhere in the Spine. However, the strangest reason for not living there were the beings that did. Beings that were either incredibly brave (although that was rare), insane (more often) or not accepted by any civilised society. Andumë had often felt that she was the combination of all three.

Even if every tiny sound in the forest made her time and again question her bravery, she felt she fitted the role of an outcast almost perfectly. Nobody in the newly established Broddring kingdom or amongst dwarves would accept an elven child and her own people would surely never take her back. That way, Andumë had never seen another elf, as she was born after her mother's exile, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. The only person who had ever wanted her around was Nardûn, a dwarf magician who was something of an outcast himself.

As for the insanity, she'd never doubted that. Why else would she, an elven _child,_ be alone in the night in the middle of a forest, looking for midnight daisies? She didn't even know they existed until Nardûn had told her that they only ever bloomed at night and their bloom was the only part usable in various potions. Coincidentally, their bloom was also the only part capable of biting your fingers off. Just as she was considering giving up and returning home, a bone-chilling roar echoed throughout the forest. It was the roar of a beast you would most certainly run from without looking back. But there was something in it that made Andumë think. It sounded pained and desperate, almost like a plea for help. The elfling almost went in the direction of the sound, but then remembered Nardûn's words: If you go in these mountains galavanting off to give help to everyone who asks for it, you'll end up with your organs removed in alphabetical order. Most creatures here only ever ask for help if they want to bite your head off, and believe me, they can act.

Andumë stopped in her tracks. The beast certainly sounded large enough to swallow one little elf without even noticing. But what if Nardûn had been wrong? What if it really needed her help? Who was she (or Nardûn, for that matter) to decide whether it would live or die?

"I do hope I'm not going to regret this," Andumë whispered to herself and ran off in the direction of the cry.

* * *

 

When she entered the small clearing the sound was coming from, her heart almost stopped along with her legs. In the middle, a small but undoubtedly incredibly hot fire burned and illuminated the creature behind it. It was giant, reptillian, and covered in golden scales. Its wings were folded around it, as if it were trying to protect itself from the cold. A dragon. It stared at Andumë with one bronze-coloured eye the size of a large watermelon, never blinking. Then she noticed several black-feathered arrows sticking from its wings and back. Hence the roar. A padded saddle was attached to the beast's back. She cautiously made a step forward, only to gasp and jump back when the dragon drew back its lips, revealed its long fangs and growled. Once Andumë managed to calm herself enough to think again, she remembered what little she knew of dragons. That they were as intelligent as any elf and those that were bonded to Riders could understand the Ancient language. They were also incredibly proud and easy to anger. Andumë bowed shakily and asked:

"May I come closer? Are you hurt, do you wish me to help you?"

For one, torturous moment nothing seemed to happen. Then the dragon inclined its head slightly and indicated a spot in front of it. Andumë doubted the wisdom of coming that close to it, but then compared it to the utter madness of refusing a dragon's wish. She started walking, when suddenly, the dragon lifted one of its wings to reveal a slim male figure lying unconsious in the grass. It was covered in blood. With three swift steps, she crossed the remaining distance and knelt beside him. He was an elf, the first Andumë had ever seen apart from the vague memories she had of her mother. His features were angular, but attractive and his long, silver hair were spread out around his head like a halo. And from under his collarbone stuck the same black arrow that had injured his dragon. As far as Andumë could tell, his whole body was covered with deep cuts and bruises, as if he had fallen from a tall tree. One side of his head was caked with blood. It didn't take Andumë long to realise that she couldn't do much for him. Even though Nardûn had tought her some minor healing spells, the young elf wasn't nearly skilled enough to heal something like _this._

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, not knowing herself whether adressing the Rider, the dragon or her own conscience,"I can't..." Then, a deep, rich voice echoed throughout her consiousness.

_Is there not anyone else here, youngling?_

It took Andumë a moment to realize that the dragon was speaking to her, then another to answer:

"Y-yes, there is. My teacher, he could help, our home isn't far."

_Then lead the way. Time grows short._

Andumë jumped to her feet and looked at the dragon. He also rose, with barely visible effort, and carefully took the Rider in his mouth, like a mother lion would carry her cub.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nardûn was sitting behind the table when Andumë barged through the door. He looked up.

"Back so soon? You better have the daisies. And all your fingers," he said. Then he noticed the elf's flushed cheeks and heavy breathing.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, but others aren't. Come quickly, they-"

 

 

"I keep telling you," Nardûn interrupted her, smiling kindly into his beard, "Andumë, we can't just wander around forests, saving every poor sod that comes around. It's like they're _falling from the sky!"_

"But that is it! This one did!" Nardûn's smile froze.

"What did you say?"

Andumë was starting to lose patience. "He fell from the sky... Along with his dragon."

Nardûn jumped to his feet, sending the chair to the floor in the process.

"Why didn't you say so before, blockhead?" he scolded, crossing the room to the door.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Andumë found herself mildly offended. "I did try to say so before, but you wouldn't let me finish," she defended herself.

Nardûn waved his hand in dismissal.

"Ah, never mind that, come on. We have a Rider to save."

Nardûn strode out of the hut so fast Andumë couldn't possibly hope to keep up. When she caught up with her teacher just a few steps outside, the huge golden dragon let out a growl that made them both stop in their tracks. Almost immediately, however, the majestic beast bowed his head, as if he were apologizing. He indicated the figure lying on the ground in front of him. Nardûn just nodded shakily and quickly knelt by the injured elf's side. Andumë followed without hesitation. The Rider looked more sick than any other being that she'd ever seen. Even with his eyes closed, she could see the dark rings under them and his likely already pale complexion took on the colour of a bleached bone. His breathing was quick, shallow and irregular. Andumë touched his forehead gingerly.

"He's burning up!" she exclaimed. Nardûn shot a glance at her, then went back to examining the elf's wound.

"Let's worry about that once we remove the arrow sticking out of his chest, shall we?" he reprimanded. Andumë opened her mouth to say something, but the magician continued:

"No, damnit, it's no use. The arrow's got a jagged tip. We'll need to push it through."

With that, he broke off the shaft sticking out of the Rider's body. The elf groaned softly and shifted, but remained unconcious.

"Help me sit him up," said Nardûn. Andumë obeyed as best as she could, lifting him heavily by his shoulders and letting his now motionless body rest against her chest. She almost fell backwards into the grass under his weight. She nodded to Nardûn.

"Now, once you see the tip, I want you to pull on it as hard as you can. But don't touch it with your bare hands," he handed the elfling a piece of hard cloth, "this will have to do. The arrow is most likely poisoned," he explained.

"Ready?"

"Yes," exhaled Andumë, although she certainly didn't feel ready. Nardûn nodded and pushed what was left of the arrow deeper into the elf's body. His dragon growled with pain. Andumë felt herself sliding backwards on the ground. She tried to dig her toes into the dirt to keep her patient in place. The pressure subsided a little and Andumë looked down to see that the wickedly jagged tip of the arrow was now sticking out of the Rider's upper back. Wasting no time, she wrapped the cloth around it, trying to ignore the Rider's hot blood trickling down her wrists. She pulled as hard as she could. She pulled the arrow free and the momentum threw her on the cold hard earth.

"Good job!" came Nardûn's voice. "Now get up and help me get him inside."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Andumë didn't later remember much of what followed. They carried the wounded elf inside and layed him down onto Andumë's bed. Then came the seemingly endless chain of cleaning the wounds, casting spells to detect which poison had been used and trying many counter-poisons that Nardûn had on the many shelves in their house. Just as it seemed the Rider's breathing had become more regular, Nardûn sent Andumë to his own bed to get some rest.

"You're no use to me wobbling about like that anyway. I can handle it."

The young elf was too tired to refuse.

 

 


	4. A Troubled Rider and a Blessed Child

 

When she got up the next morning, Andumë found that both the Dragon Rider and Nardûn were gone. Confused and worried, she walked out of the hut and almost laughed. There was a small note pinned to a pine nearby reading:

_"Don't worry about me once you finally get up - I'm in the village. Nardûn."_

And the elf who had been dying just a few hours ago was alive and well, tending to his dragon's own wounds. Another elf. Of that she was certain, despite the fact that he looked so different from her. His skin was pale, but lacked the soft radiance of Andumë's, as did his grey eyes. For a moment, she thought he looked more... earthly. She had of course expected to eventually meet one of her own people during her long life, but here he was, now, and she had no idea how to approach him. 'Good morning' somehow didn't seem right. Nor did just walking to him and wait for him to say something first. The longer she thought, the less she was sure of herself. Suddenly, the dragon let out a snarl that made her jump three inches off the ground. Somewhat belatedly, she realized that he'd laughed at her.

"You can come closer, you know," the Rider said without looking at her. Andumë swallowed, and started walking towards the duo. Then he turned his silver head to her. He smiled, but there was worry behind his smile. Andumë frowned. For a moment, the older elf seemed to be studying her.

"What is your name?" he asked finally. She told him. He seemed to wait for her to continue, but when the elfling remained silent, he laughed softly.

"No, no, no, this simply won't do."

Andumë tilted her head to one side in an unspoken question.

 _We can feel the many questions buzzing in your mind._ the dragon's voice echoed in her head.

_You would do best to let them out, before they do it themselves._

She smiled stiffly in embarassment.

"Well?" the elf raised an eyebrow. She took a deep breath.

"What's your name? Where do you come from? What did that to you? Do you-?"

"Alright, alright," he laughed again, "walk with me. I will tell you everything I can if," he jumped down from the dragon's massive front leg, "you promise to then tell me your story."

"I promise." Andumë looked back at the dragon, who started to shift his position uncomfortably, "But will he be alright?"

"I have healed his wounds, now all he needs is some rest. Unlike me, Glaedr did not get much sleep last night." He suddenly seemed to recall Andumë's storm of questions.

"My name is Oromis. Glaedr and I come from the island of Vroengard to the west."

He started slowly walking away from Nardûn's house, Andumë by his left side.

"We were just returning home, when we were ambushed."

The elfling twisted her head upwards to look at him, something she had never had to do before, being raised by a dwarf, and asked:

"Who were the attackers?"

"Still are, to my great regret,“ he sighed, "They are called the Ra'zac. Although their physical shape is roughly similar to ours, you should never mistake them for an elf, or a dwarf. They have evolved to be the best possible hunters of humans, which is why they followed their prey across the sea here over a hundred years ago. They can see clearly during the darkest night and are as fast and strong as the best of queen Dellanir's guards."

Andumë swallowed hard and a chill ran down her spine.

"How many of them are there?" she managed.

"The Riders have, ever since the Ra'zac first appeared, been working restlessly to wipe them out. So far, our efforts have not been succesful. How many? About a hundred and fifty, but it is hard to be certain. There used to be much more of them."

Oromis then stayed silent for a moment, as if he wanted to allow Andumë to process what he'd just said.

"But how could they have ambushed you if you were flying?" she asked.

"That is one of the reasons we have not killed them all yet. They ride flying creatures known as Lethrblaka. They are the size of a young dragon and although they cannot breathe fire, they can be just as deadly."

They reached a place where a moss covered rock almost the size of Andumë's home stuck out of the thick undergrowth. They climbed the side closer to them, which was not nearly as steep as the other, and sat down.

Andumë looked at the older elf, who kept his gaze focused on the forest. Now the sunlight cast shadows over his face that she hadn't noticed before.

"We were attacked by three of them. Two from the above, one from below. The first two we have noticed and tried to dispose of them with magic. I might as well have thrown a fistful of dust at them. Just as Glaedr started to turn to fight them off, the third hit me with the poisoned arrow you've seen. One of the others then tore me from the saddle and let me fall."

As he spoke, his expression gradually became harder and more tense.

"From Glaedr I know that he tried to catch me, but the Lethrblaka held him back. He injured one of them badly and killed its Ra'zac. That forced them to fly away. I think they decided to let the poison do its work."

Andumë had thought that the emotion that showed on his face was hatred or anger, but she realized that that was not the case.

"You are afraid," she whispered, not quite believing it herself. Oromis turned to face her. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat and took a deep breath.

"Yes. Yes, I am. These Ra'zac have wards against magic and the implications of that-"

He stopped himself.

"These are one of the deadliest creatures I have ever encountered and I believe they will be back. I am afraid that I might not be able to protect you both," he confessed.

Andumë inhaled sharply. Oromis' words terrified her, but they were undoubtedly the truth. In the Ancient language, he could not have said even a white lie.

"What does this have to do with me?" she asked.

"You do not know?"

"Know what?"

"Elven children are incredibly rare, Andumë,“ he explained, "they have to be protected at all costs. Even more importantly, they are gifted with magical power that adults can only dream of."

She frowned in disbelief. She could only cast the weakest spells and even those worked only sporadically.

"How can that be? At casting spells, I am mediocre at best."

"I never said you could control it. But it is there."

He took her right hand and held it by the wrist next to his own, which seemed dull and ashen in comparison.

"Can you not see? Your very skin glows with magic."

Andumë stared at her hand as if enchanted.

"I never thought it to be something special..." she whispered.

"But it is," Oromis said, "and to think that Nardûn let you wander through these forests alone in the night-!"

He clenched his fists. The abrupt change in his tone of voice and the stance of his body startled her and she suddenly felt the need to defend the dwarf.

"I never got hurt, not once."

"I find that hard to believe. But I know you are telling the truth," he admitted, "Even so, your unbelievable amount of luck does not excuse his actions."

"But he knows I cannot get hurt!"

"Can't you?" Oromis frowned.

"No," Andumë stood her ground.

"Once, when I was about ten," she continued, "Nardûn took me to a village nearby. I was curious about humans and happy to see other people." She smiled sadly.

"But they were not happy to see me. They pointed and shouted and hid their children from me. One woman was so terrified that she threw a stone at me. Her aim was sound, and neither me, nor Nardûn had the time to do anything. But the stone missed anyway. I have not seen another intelligent being since."

"Another time, I climbed a tall tree during a thunderstorm to see where the lights come from.“ She paused and laughed softly, "Stupid of me, I know. A bolt of lightning missed me by an inch and struck a stone on the ground. When I went to look at it, it glowed bright red from the heat."

Oromis stayed silent, immersed in his own thoughts. Andumë waited patiently until he decided to speak again:

"Does Nardûn have an explanation for this phenomenon?"

Andumë shook her head, her silver hair glittering in the sunlight.

"Not that I know of," she said, "but every time he learns of one of my near accidents, he calls me a 'Blessed child'."

"He may be more right than he knows..." Oromis said to himself. Before Andumë could ask what he had meant, he got to his feet and held out his hand.

"Come, let us head back. Nardûn should be back as well by now and I do not want him to worry about us both disappearing."

Andumë smiled and took Oromis' hand. He pulled her to her feet without any effort whatsoever and they set off to return to the dwarf's house.

 

 


End file.
